


Want and Need

by exactly13percent (superagentwolf)



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: 2k18 AFTG Zine Discord Inspired, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Multi, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, UHHH IDK WHAT ELSE, some of this is low-key
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-06 16:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16391249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/exactly13percent
Summary: “You don’t have to go anywhere to come. In fact, if you stay, you can come all you want.”





	1. Perfect Courtship

Neil bit his thumbnail and watched Kevin pace over toward the ball in the corner of the court. Kevin stood there for a long moment, staring down at it where it lay next to an overturned plastic cup.

That was the game. Plastic cups. Neil was supposed to try to throw the ball into the cups, while Kevin did his best to make it more difficult.

Kevin reached down to pick up the ball. He stared down at the sphere in his hand. “Hm.”

Neil was impatient. Keyed-up. They had been out on the court for two hours, now. Neil was sweat-slick and sore from practicing so long. His body felt heavy and weightless at the same time.

Well. Part of that might have been because of Kevin. After all, Kevin had to demonstrate what he wanted, and Neil had tried to focus on the ball that sailed into a cup.

Kevin made it hard to split attention between exy and himself. Neil tried anyway. He was stubborn like that.

“Well?” Neil finally broke, tired of the silence. He was sweaty, and his pulse pounded in his ears. All he really wanted was to go home.

That wasn’t entirely true, though.

“You did a good job,” Kevin said quietly. He rolled the ball around his palm and Neil swallowed because _fuck_ if Kevin didn’t make things hard.

Difficult. _Fuck_.

Neil wanted to shrug off the reply, but it was hard not to respond to praise when it came from Kevin. He was the best, after all.

“Great.” Neil’s short reply was half annoyance and half desperation. He couldn’t keep his tongue still and tame if he spoke for long. “Now what? Do I get a prize?”

It was supposed to be sarcasm. Or a joke. It came out strained instead.

Kevin paced over. That was the thing about him, Neil thought—Kevin was supposed to be a fox, but he was a little too big—

— _stop thinking about big_ —

—and Kevin always moved more like a cat, anyway. Like he could simply transfix everyone into submission.

Neil would never admit that it worked more often than not.

Kevin was in front of him, _when did that happen_ , and his eyes roved over Neil in a way that should have been critical. Kevin was always critical on the court; he sized people up, reduced them to their position and the angle of their shot. He took them apart and held every muscle, every bone, every tendon in his warm hands while he said _not good enough._

Which was probably why hearing _good job_ from Kevin did more than just comfort Neil.

“You did a good job,” Kevin repeated, and he _knew_ , the asshole knew what he was doing. He knew because he watched every shiver that rolled through Neil’s body; followed them with that heavy gaze like he was imagining how to map out the muscles that lay beneath Neil’s skin.

Neil was getting impatient again and Kevin was just making things—

— _difficult._

Of course, there were really two ways this could go. One involved Neil fighting and tugging like he always did, because that particular urge never left him. The other involved Neil giving in and asking, which was definitely not easy. Not when he stood before Kevin on the court.

Neil kept his mouth firmly shut.

Kevin fucking _smirked_. Neil was ready to go off on him, but Kevin’s hands suddenly descended on his shoulders and _oh_ did that do wonderful things. It promised wonderful things. Kevin dug the heels of his palms into Neil’s shoulders and there was no way Neil could hold back the whine in his throat.

This was always fun for Kevin. He’d spent too much time watching Neil in bewilderment. Wondering how anyone could possibly fight as much as Neil did. That fearlessness and stubborn streak bled into everything else.

It was one of Kevin’s hobbies to make Neil unravel. Unwind and relinquish himself.

“A prize,” Kevin repeated thoughtfully. He had some lovely ideas, but it was always more entertaining to make Neil give up a few. Half the battle was making Neil open his goddamn mouth, which otherwise never stopped moving. “Like what? What do you want?”

Want. Neil didn’t want, or so he’d thought, because he had never wanted anything before he set foot on this court and watched Kevin slink across it like he owned the goddamn place. Before Kevin twisted his hands around his racquet like he was promising something and made good on the promise later, all whispers in Neil’s ear and the reminder that Neil was _good_.

There was an audible sigh from the nearby bleachers. Neil jerked out of his fantasy, a little sour and very peeved. He could hear Andrew shifting in his seat.

Not like Neil had forgotten. It wasn’t like Andrew was a stranger to the court, or midnight practice, or—

— _this_.

After all, it had only taken three practices before Neil had been a little more frustrated than he had any right to be, and Kevin had taken the time to prop his racquet up against the plexiglass before pushing Neil up against the same wall to fuck his snide comments into unintelligible moans.

Andrew said _junkies_ , but he’d watched them all the same, those brown-green eyes flicking over their intertwined bodies in a way that had most definitely pushed Neil over the edge.

“Don’t give him a choice,” Andrew said from the bleachers. He leaned back, phone in hand, as if there was nothing of interest happening one the court. Like there never was. He was such a goddamn faker.

Kevin’s eyes flicked to Andrew. He didn’t seem bothered by the interruption. He was usually pissed when someone barged in on his coaching, but then, Neil wasn’t exactly exy.

The mistake Neil made was in following Kevin’s gaze and wondering what spiteful argument would come next. Kevin had probably planned this—of course he had; he planned every fucking thing the second he stepped on the court—but Neil wasn’t exactly in the mood to argue.

Not when Kevin’s knee was rubbing against his crotch.

Neil bit back whatever threatened to leave his mouth; all that came out was a hiss of restraint. If he’d been closer to the wall, he might have hit his head.

“You know the rules.” Kevin leaned in, right next to Neil’s ear. His voice was low and _fuck,_ it always did things it shouldn’t to Neil, sometimes after a good run when they were both already high and sweaty.

Kevin’s hand was sliding under his shirt and Neil shivered violently. He was already tired and weak from practice; he had the distinct feeling that time was the only thing standing between him and actually collapsing.

“Make him say them,” Andrew said. Neil shot him a weak glare, but Kevin’s blunt nails scratched his ribs and drew his attention back. “He’s going to be a little shit about it. He has to say them.”

“Shut _up_ , Andrew—” Neil choked on his words; Kevin snapped the band of Neil’s gym shorts against his hips, thumbs dipping just low enough to be maddening.

“No, he’s right,” Kevin mused. Neil was almost irritated by how calm Kevin sounded, but of course he did. He was on the court; he was at home. He was queen here and Neil was just trying to stay upright.

Of course, it wasn’t as if Kevin had thought to hold him back. Neil pushed into Kevin’s touch. He was panting; felt like he’d been panting since he set foot on the court.

The movement seemed to remind Kevin that Neil wasn’t exactly restrained. He pushed Neil back, fingertips to chest, and waited until he heard the thud of his body against the walls. “Well? What are the rules, Neil?”

Neil tried to glare, but it bounced off Kevin like just another ball. Kevin smiled and trailed his fingers lower, ghosts across Neil’s stomach, lingering near his waistband and promising more. Always promising.

Why did Kevin have to make things _so fucking hard?_

“Don’t be quiet,” Neil recited through clenched teeth. Kevin’s fingers dipped a little lower. They left a rising buzz in their wake, like static. “Ask—ask for what I want.”

“And?”

Kevin’s hand was halfway beneath his shorts. If Neil moved, he could probably feel it against his dick, just barely brushing the desperate heat.

“And no running.” Neil gasped halfway through his answer, but he couldn’t help it; not with Kevin’s hands tearing away Neil’s shorts.

“You don’t have to go anywhere to come,” Kevin murmured. His lips were on Neil’s neck, but he wasn’t _doing anything_ , the bastard, he was just _playing_ , like he always fucking did. “In fact, if you stay, you can come all you want.”

It was wrong—so wrong, this rulebook they had, like some desecration of the exy rules. Or maybe it was perfect because Kevin couldn’t untangle himself from the game and fuck if Neil wanted him to.

Kevin was taking too long. Neil was pinned against the wall, but he had enough room to touch himself, so he did. The relief and pleasure that shot through him was just as sudden as the way Kevin had thrown him down last time on the court, impatient and tired of Neil’s quips.

“Don’t let him touch himself,” Andrew said.

“Fuck you,” Neil gasped. His hands were pinned to the wall, now. Something sailed toward him and hit his head.

Kevin hummed and absently traced Neil’s chest, fingers pressing along his abs. “Pick it up. You know what to do.”

“Fucking finally,” Neil managed. He nearly threw himself to the ground when Kevin released his wrists.

Lube, thank God. Neil was only a little less pissed at Andrew. He turned to give it to Kevin, but something pushed his cheek away.

_A fucking racquet._

“Fuck.” Neil shut his eyes. He couldn’t hold onto anything; he could only ball his fists against the floor and burn from the inside out. He needed touch. He needed to not consider fucking himself raw on Kevin’s racquet. He needed anything but the wait.

Kevin’s hand was on Neil’s back. It was always so wide and warm, like he could hold Neil in it; as if he held the entire world in it.

It definitely _felt_ like Kevin had the world in his hands, when he was fucking Neil.

“You did so well, today,” Kevin murmured. His hand slid from the dip in Neil’s back to the curve of his ass, stopping short, lingering.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Neil groaned. “Fuck me already, Day—”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” Neil was almost shouting, now. When he opened his mouth to repeat himself, he felt the first slick slide of a finger against his hole and what came out was, “ _Yes_.”

Neil’s hand wandered—he was leaking and hard, desperate for release, and he couldn’t just ignore the way Kevin was slowly working him open.

Andrew’s voice broke through again. “Kevin, pin his arms.”

Neil jolted. “Fuck—”

“I’ve got a better idea.” Kevin’s hand disappeared for a moment and Neil whined, hands pressed to the ground. A second later, there was a racquet laid next to them. “Hold it. If you drop it, you’re done.”

“Kevin—”

“Rules, Neil,” Kevin said evenly. “What do you want?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Neil insisted. His arms were already burning but he held the racquet before him.

“Then hold it.”

Neil wanted to argue, and he might have, but Kevin’s teeth scraped against his shoulder and Neil forgot what it was he wanted to say. He shivered at the touch and then Kevin had three fingers in him, just as determined as if he was playing a high-stakes game, hitting just against Neil’s prostrate the same way he hit the goal every time he made a shot.

“Fuck, fuck—Kevin, fuck—” Neil could barely see for the stars behind his eyes; they looked like stadium lights, they looked like the flashes of the camera, they looked like the fucking halo Kevin wore when he stormed out onto the court and slammed a point home.

At least Kevin didn’t punish him for pushing back into the touch. It could only do so much, and Neil whimpered with the pressure threatening him. Kevin wondered if maybe he could come this way—if Neil could finish like this, beautiful and red and cursing because Kevin wasn’t moving fast enough for him.

“Make him wait,” Andrew said. He sounded closer, or maybe not; Neil couldn’t open his eyes and even if he did, he probably wouldn’t be able to see straight. “It’s better when you do.”

Kevin’s hand slowed, and Neil choked out a curse. “Fuck _damnit_ , Kevin, why are you fucking listening to him—”

“Not my court. I’m outclassed.” At least Kevin sounded breathless, Neil thought—at least he was keyed-up, too. At least Neil knew that when Kevin started to lose his composure, it meant they were close.

“Don’t fucking encourage him.”

Kevin laughed, and Neil could feel it—and then he realized why, because Kevin’s tongue was circling his hole and Neil reflexively twitched and cried out from the contact.

This was the perfect position, Kevin decided, to be here on the court with a full view of Neil’s ass and the way his body shook. Neil probably wouldn’t last long holding the racquet, but Kevin hadn’t planned on it staying there for long. Neil was distracted when he was being fucked well and Kevin wasn’t about to let the racquet break.

Besides, he _did_ want to test out using the racquet. Some other time, maybe.

But _fuck_ , Neil was beautiful like this. Not running but stuck firmly in place, his body wracked with pleasure and a high blush on his skin, scars pink-white across his back and arms. He was perfect this way and Kevin appreciated him, he really did, because no one else brought the same kind of fire and utter determination to the court—and what was better than having everything this way, the court and Neil and the mounting pleasure that was taking over?

“ _Kevin_.” Neil whined, and Kevin couldn’t separate the sound from the way Neil was twitching, his hole ready and waiting. “Fuck, Kevin, if you don’t fuck me I’m going to get Andrew to—”

Well, that couldn’t happen. Not yet, at least.

Kevin ran his hand along Neil’s back one last time. He liked the slide of sweat and skin against his palm and loved the way it made Neil shudder.

“Move the racquet away. You’re going to need your arms, babe.” Kevin paused while Neil hurriedly shoved the stick away. “But if you touch yourself, it’s a penalty. Understand?”

“Yes. Kevin,” Neil repeated, the desperate edge in his voice raw and rough. “Fuck, I need—”

Kevin already knew what he needed. He knew better than most people, probably. He wanted to know anyway, because nothing was sweeter than Neil giving up the truth in a symphony of moans and strangled curses. Kevin leaned over Neil, his dick throbbing with need. His question was a murmur.

“What do you need? What do you want, Neil?”

“I need you inside me,” Neil pleaded. He was pushing his hips back now; he could feel Kevin hard against him, _fuck_ , and the thought that Kevin had the patience and control to just ignore it so long was more than Neil could handle. “Fuck me, Kevin, I need you.”

They were the magic words. Always. The need seemed to do something, or maybe it was because Neil said it; he didn’t know. All Neil knew was the glorious push of Kevin sliding into his hole, slick and hard in a way Neil could never hope to replicate even if he wanted to.

Of course, Neil never wanted to. Nothing his hands could do would ever compare to Kevin or Andrew or even the thought of the racquet lying a few inches away.

There was too much. Neil was strung out and sore from practice and he felt used in a way he couldn’t comprehend. Kevin was never harsh with him but _God,_ Neil loved it as Kevin fucked him harder and the burn started to replace the exhaustion of training. He loved feeling good—good for Kevin, good for exy, good for anything.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” Kevin groans when he leans over Neil, chest to back, their sweat-sticky skin holding them together. “Fuck, Neil—”

“Kevin,” Neil gasped; he could barely breathe, his body was on fire, he couldn’t feel anything but Kevin filling him. Kevin slamming his prostrate with abandon, every push a shockwave through Neil’s body.

Kevin bit his shoulder again, sucking at the skin, his breath panting against Neil’s body. “Tell me. You know the rules, babe, tell me—”

“Perfect, you’re perfect,” Neil babbled, every wordless thought catching on his tongue as it poured forth. He was safe, this was safe, the court was safe and there was nothing holding back the truth he wanted to speak. “I want you, Kevin, I need you—I need you, I love it, I love you—”

He never figured out the end of his sentence; Andrew was suddenly there, his hand on Neil’s chin, pushing him to meet Andrew’s gaze. “No more running,” he said quietly, his thumb tracing the bottom of Neil’s lower lip. “You’re staying here.”

Neil was spilling over at the edges and then Kevin’s hand was on his dick, just one, two, three, four, and then Neil came in a white-hot rush of pleasure, stars behind his eyes. He felt Kevin come just a second later, a gasp and heat filling Neil all at once.

Kevin waited, the world ringing and his vision unfocused as he waited for Neil to come down from the high of orgasm. He would never be bored or tired by this—by Neil on the floor of the court, boneless and relaxed, completely exhausted as much from practice as being fucked. He looked good fucked, Kevin decided, with his golden skin flushed and red hair out of place.

Andrew obviously agreed. Kevin could have laughed at the way Andrew was watching Neil, that heavy gaze and hazel eyes taking in every twitch and shake.

“You know the rules.” Kevin rose, his legs pleasantly burning.

Neil huffed and glared over his shoulder, but he was still breathless. “Why don’t you fucking clean? It’s your mess, too.”

“Penalty,” Andrew suggested.

Neil gave him the finger. Kevin smiled to himself and passed Neil his discarded shorts. “Maybe not a penalty. But I’m sure you can give him incentive to finish faster.”

“I thought you wanted to finish slower.”

“Your snarky comments never fail to amuse,” Andrew said drily. He flicked his cigarette and peered down at Neil. There was something that shone in his gaze. “Get a move on, Josten, or you’ll miss dessert.”

“I hate sweets.”

“That’s not what you said about him last practice,” Kevin supplied. He ducked to avoid the dirty towel Neil threw at him. Kevin smirked. “Get a move on, Josten. I’m timing you, remember?”

“Fuck the both of you.”

“Actually, that’s your position.”


	2. Sloppy Seconds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A gift,” Kevin said lazily from across Andrew’s bed.  
> “Didn’t ask for your input, Day,”

Neil twisted in his seat. Kevin absently swatted in his direction—or at least, he pretended to do it absently. Neil knew Kevin was watching his every move.

“Not allowed.”

“Not allowed,” Neil mocked, but it came out more miserable than snide. God, he was still buzzing. Buzzing from Kevin’s touch, Kevin’s fingers, his tongue rimming Neil into a frenzy, his cock filling him up just right—

—miserable wasn’t enough. Neil was downright despondent, aching for something more but exhausted from practice.

Of course, Kevin knew what he’d done. He knew how keyed-up Neil was after a good practice just as well as he knew how drained Neil would be.

Well. In more ways than one.

Not that Kevin or Andrew minded. They always seemed to like coaxing Neil back into oblivion, until his arms were deadweight and his legs wouldn’t move. _Keep him here,_ Andrew said once. _Can’t use those pretty legs to run if you can’t stand._

It was never threatening. Their quiet words were always more comforting; reminders that Neil didn’t have to worry about his body. Not when Kevin and Andrew were there to look after him. To make sure he wasn’t betrayed by years of routine and running, some intrusive darkness pushing him away from Kevin and Andrew and the best thing he’d ever had in his life.

“Move it, junkie.”

Neil blinked. They were back already; Andrew shot him a glare that didn’t hit its mark. “Which one of us? I can never tell who you’re talking to,” Neil mocked.

“No?” Andrew leaned over the console. His eyes were lazy, heavy-lidded, cat-green and brown. His hand hung from the seat, a cigarette still resting between his fingers.

Andrew held his cigarettes delicately. He only ever used his hands this carefully when he was prepping Neil.

“Maybe I should add some description to your name, then. What kind of junkie are you, Josten?”

Neil knew his fingers were curling on the edges of his seat. He was thrumming with need, but he was already so tired—so blissed from Kevin’s care. He couldn’t stand up to what Andrew had to give him.

_But I don’t really have to stand…_

Andrew knew what was going through Neil’s mind. He was easy to read when he was blushing, the red spots high on his cheeks still as vibrant as they’d been when Kevin was fucking him on the court. Of course, the damn junkies hadn’t been able to wait.

Not that Andrew gave a damn. They could have their court. Andrew preferred the bed and the darkness of their room. The way Neil would already be so open, with the truth in his eyes and one less wall between him and the outside world. Maybe he needed Kevin to take down those walls. Maybe he needed Andrew to see his truths.

Maybe he just really liked being fucked. _Well. I know he does._

Andrew pulled back and opened his car door. He heard the frustrated noise Neil made but ignored it. Kevin followed Andrew; his hair was still a mess and his mouth was red. He smelled like Neil and sex, and he looked like he was interested in what Andrew had in mind.

Kevin always had an interest, when it came to Neil. Andrew couldn’t exactly fault him.

Andrew didn’t bother turning the lights on. Neil trailed behind Kevin and Andrew, frustrated and torn between his choices. He wanted—really _wanted_ —and that was one of the rules. He had to tell what he wanted, and he had to have it.

 _Always get what you want,_ Kevin had whispered, his lips crushing against Neil’s, deep red like his favorite wine. _That’s the rule, baby, Neil asks, and he gets what he wants…_

Kevin threw his bag onto the floor, not bothering to unpack it. It wasn’t like any of them were going to pretend this wasn’t going to end up in the bedroom. Whether it was the shower or the bed for Neil, Andrew still had his turn to take.

 _You know how to take turns, right?_ Neil had asked, standing between Andrew and Kevin on the court. _I think you can share. I want you to share._

He was never sure whether it was his want or theirs that had sealed the deal. Or maybe it was need.

Andrew wasn’t one to waste time. He waited for the door to close behind them and then his hand was pulling Neil’s shirt up lazily, messy and half-assed because he knew Neil was going to rip it off as soon as he had the green light.

And Neil did just that, fingers gripping cotton before he tossed it in the corner.

Andrew always started with a kiss. It was his test, Neil liked to think. It was his starting point—his way of figuring out how things would go. Sometimes, it was just his direction and Neil sitting across from him on a chair. Other times, it was Neil doing all the work, still with direction.

Neil loved the way Andrew kissed. Kevin was good, and Neil loved his ways, too, but there was something unique about Andrew. About the way he fought a war with his tongue, beating back any thoughts or questions Neil might have with just one tilt of his head.

Andrew pulled back, apparently satisfied. His eyes were darker, or maybe it was the bedroom. One of his hands trailed over Neil’s chest, finding all the familiar scars. That was another thing—Kevin gave Neil ignorance. A distance. Andrew lingered over those marks; loved them, even. They were two sides to a coin that Neil could never pick between.

Which was why he just chose both, instead.

Neil was still waiting for words—direction, anything—and then he was jolting and gasping as Andrew’s hand curled around his waist, fingers dipping down his ass and finding his still-slick hole. Neil had taken too long to clean. Kevin didn’t let him shower.

“Good. You’re already lubed up,” Andrew said, and that was the thing, he always just _said shit_ , his voice even and his hands exploratory while he said shit like he wasn’t thinking about spreading Neil out and giving him everything.

Andrew still hadn’t given him anything, so Neil’s hands clenched in the air, a whimper half-squashed in his throat. Andrew glanced at Neil’s hands, distantly recognizing the dilemma. “You can touch,” he finally allowed. “Waist up.”

“A gift,” Kevin said lazily from across Andrew’s bed. He was lounging in his chair, one leg thrown over the arm and the other stretched out before him. He might have been tired, but he wasn’t going to miss this. It was just as good to have Neil clench around him as it was to see Neil tight around someone else. It was all about point of view.

“Didn’t ask for your input, Day,” Andrew said mildly. He did something with his hand—his finger pushing into Neil’s hole, no doubt—and Neil whined again, shoulders shaking.

Kevin was very aware that Andrew was going to fuck with him while he fucked Neil, but he also knew it wouldn’t last long. Andrew couldn’t pay attention to them both and he wasn’t allowed to, anyway. _Neil gets what he wants._

“Tell me what to do,” Neil pleaded. He swallowed his need back just a little; Andrew still didn’t like begging all that much and they were only now venturing into this territory.

Andrew withdrew his hand. Neil worried that he had done something wrong, but Andrew moved toward the bed, silently pulling his shirt off with the same casual patience he’d used to touch Neil. “Bed,” he directed, sliding his dark jeans off. “You can face me, and you can do the work until you can’t.”

It was always _can_ and _can’t_ with Andrew. No orders. Kevin had his rules; Andrew had the same, but he had to say them differently. Neil didn’t mind. He liked the difference.

Andrew moved toward the bed. Neil didn’t have to look to see how hard Andrew was; he knew Andrew’s eyes had been on Kevin and him on the court. Still, Neil looked, because he loved the sight. He loved that Andrew let him see.

Andrew waited, and Neil wasn’t planning to waste any more time. He moved carefully, one leg and the other on either side of Andrew. His legs were shaking, but he didn’t mind them. He’d been more tired before.

Neil was ready—more than ready, with the distinct press of Andrew’s cock against him. Andrew’s hands curled around his hips and Neil loved them, loved the way they held him tightly like he would slip away. As if Neil could ever slip away from this.

Somewhere behind him, Neil could hear Kevin stir. He was probably touching himself now, still in his shorts and clean from his shower at the court. He never minded cleaning up twice, when it was Neil he was getting dirty for.

“Look at me, junkie,” Andrew muttered. Neil held his breath. “Can you let me watch you?”

“Yes.” Neil’s hands tightened on Andrew’s shoulders. He tried not to weigh down on him too much, keeping his weight on his legs. He shifted and then—

—then, there was only the glorious slide of Andrew’s cock filling him up, so perfect and smooth while Neil moaned, every inch of his body on fire.

“Good,” Neil breathed, his arms shaking, his legs shaking, his _soul_ shaking. He barely recognized his own voice anymore. “Andrew, you’re so good—”

“You can move.” Simple words, quiet words, but Andrew was a little more hushed. He was lighter, like his words were coming on thin breaths.

Neil lifted himself, his legs protesting, but he didn’t have a mind to say he was tired. He could never be tired, not with this feeling, the pure senselessness that overcame his body when he’d gone past the point of being used up. He had nothing more left in his body but there was _always_ more when it came to Andrew and Kevin; _always_ more feeling, more pleasure, more want. More need.

All it took was letting go, and Neil let go. He slid back down the heat of Andrew’s cock, the press inside of him insistent and unyielding.

Kevin never got tired of the sight of Neil fucking himself stupid, everything about his hair out of place, even his face a mess of desire and mindless pleasure. Neil was perfect running on the court, his legs defying time and space as he sprinted, but he was arguably more perfect this way, his legs defying _physics_ as he pushed his body to give him more.

Arguably. Kevin was still trying to figure out how to test his theory.

Neil’s hands wandered over Andrew’s chest. His touch was always just right, and Andrew had puzzled over that, frustrated and angry and in denial, because no one knew how to touch him. No one could know. Except Neil _did_ know, and he always had the perfect whisper of pressure to his fingertips as he explored.

Then Neil went and screwed up, because his hands wandered to the already-red mess of his dick and moved to close around it.

“Kevin, pin his arms,” Andrew said suddenly. His hands stilled Neil, pressing into his hips, and Neil squashed the note of protest that rose to his throat.

 _God fucking damn it._ Neil let Andrew hold him and the frustration he felt was only barely eclipsed by the feeling of Kevin’s hands on his wrists and the _very_ obvious heat of Kevin’s dick against his back. Neil shook with the effort of not pushing back against him, still very much full of Andrew and not keen on breaking another rule.

Not that touching himself was a rule. It was just that Kevin and Andrew enjoyed doing the work more. Or rather, they enjoyed making Neil wait.

“Shh.” Kevin’s lips were at his neck, teeth at an already-tender spot. Neil gasped and tilted his head back, straining with the need to have _more_. It was always _more_ with them.

“You can move,” Andrew said lowly, his hands tracing down the vee of Neil’s hips. The bastard stopped short, teasing, resting just above the throbbing mess of Neil’s sensitive dick.

“Finally,” Neil breathed. This, he could do. He knew this—knew how to push until his body screamed for a reprieve.

It was easy to give in. Neil bounced because Kevin and Andrew were fucking liars if they ever said they didn’t like it; Neil saw the way Andrew watched his ass and he knew Kevin always did the same thing from across the room.

“Fuck,” Neil gasped. “ _Fuck_ , Andrew, yes—”

That was the word. Andrew liked _yes_ more than he liked everything else, so of course Neil said it over and over again. He said it when he fucked himself on Andrew’s cock and he said it when Andrew watched him finger himself. He said it every time he could. Sometimes he wanted to say it when he was sucking Andrew off, but that was impossible, so Neil always just tried to spell it out with his fingers on Andrew’s thighs.

“Fuck.” There it was, Andrew’s voice, rough and strained. Past his mask now, because Neil was far gone, and everything was safe in the darkness of their room. “You’re fucking tight. I saw you get fucked open, didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes.” It was a chant now, every slap of Neil’s ass as he hit Andrew’s lap matching his words. “ _God_ , yes, Andrew—”

Neil’s legs were shaking too much. He could feel his pace slowing despite himself and he desperately wanted more, wanted to keep going, wanted the too-much, glorious feeling of Andrew sliding against every sensitive inch of him.

“Someone’s tired,” Kevin mused. He was still biting little marks into Neil’s skin, moving from neck to shoulders and back. Neil groaned, frustrated, annoyed at his body and annoyed that Kevin opened his mouth.

“Shut _up_ , Kevin.” Neil tried to snap, but he was losing breath, and nothing sounded right anymore.

Andrew’s thumbs pressed into Neil’s hips. He slowed Neil with just a touch, enticing Neil to grind down, silent and sure. Neil moaned at the friction; the way Andrew was just pushing against his prostrate, a frenzy of sensation and rawness overcoming him.

“That right?” Andrew murmured, his mouth descending to Neil’s chest. “Are you tired?”

Neil opened his mouth, but the words descended into a cry when Andrew’s tongue circled a nipple, wet and slow. He _was_ a fucking demon, Neil decided, and he tried to get his words to form a straight line while his mind went haywire at the sensation.

“I— _fuck_ —Andrew, I—”

“What do you want, Neil?” Andrew moved away, his breath ghosting across Neil’s skin. “Tell me. Are you tired?”

 _Fuck._ “I c—I can’t,” Neil managed. His heart was thundering in his chest and he couldn’t keep track of whose hands were on him, whose mouth was pressing to his skin. “I need you. I need you to fuck me.”

Simple. It was always so simple with Andrew when it shouldn’t have been. Andrew’s hands pressed, guiding Neil, turning him. Neil missed the heat as he pulled himself away, biting back a whine of displeasure.

It was certainly nice to find Kevin’s dick waiting for him, though. Neil’s eyes flicked up to the warm ones above him, curious and heavy with want. With need.

“Maybe Kevin can keep you busy,” Andrew mused. He was leaning over Neil’s back, sucking at the skin, probably spitefully scattering his own marks between Kevin’s. “No touching, remember, or it’s over for you.”

It was already damn well over, Neil knew, but he obeyed and waited. Looked up at Kevin and tried not to stop breathing while he waited for direction. Rules. Anything.

“What do you want, baby?” Kevin’s hand trailed up Neil’s neck, enticing, caressing him and resting on his chin with purpose. “Tell me what you want to do.”

Andrew chose this exact moment to thrust into Neil again. Neil whimpered at the contact, a thousand nerve endings sparking to life at the sensation. He reached out for something—anything—and found Kevin was a very good thing to hold on to. Kevin had a nice ass, anyway, and Neil _definitely_ wanted his hands on it.

“Wanna—want you,” Neil stuttered, his voice catching between gasps of air. His eyes were watering; he wasn’t sure if they were tears of pleasure or frustration. “Please. Let me—give me—”

Kevin probably already knew. Maybe he was just waiting. Andrew hit just the right spot; Neil was gasping, his mouth open and ready, and then the head of Kevin’s dick was resting on his lips. Neil had never been so relieved in his life. Had never felt so absolute, so _concrete,_ grounded in two people he could not tear himself away from.

Neil’s technique was shot to shit, but he tried to concentrate enough to do well. He licked against the Kevin’s already-wet slit and reveled in the salt and musk; he wanted to bury his face there, fill his senses with nothing but the smell of Kevin and the feeling of Andrew fucking him from behind.

He wasn’t going to be able to say anything like this, but Neil didn’t really give a damn. Andrew and Kevin already had the best of him. He took Kevin on his tongue, pressing against the hard weight of his cock, and took Kevin as far as he could. Maybe his eyes were watering or maybe he was crying. He didn’t give a fuck.

It was a curious thing, with the both of them—Neil felt like a glass threatening to spill over. He could feel the thrum of Kevin’s dick in his throat and the steadily-quickening pace of Andrew’s cock slamming right into his sensitive prostrate. It was too much, _too much_ , but Neil never wanted it to stop.

There was something hypnotizing about the way Neil gave blowjobs, Kevin decided; whether it was the little whimpers vibrating in his throat or the way his fingers dug into Kevin’s ass like he needed _more,_ always _more._ Neil didn’t seem to pay attention to how wrecked he was or how much he was taking, probably because Andrew was distracting him. Kevin didn’t care why. All he cared about was the ruined mess of Neil’s face as he sucked on Kevin with the same reckless abandon he used on the court, ignoring the way Kevin hit his throat every time.

Andrew would never tire of Neil like this. One way or another, it was always truth with Neil. Always Neil falling apart, moans and whines and his hips twisting as he tried to take Andrew further than he could go. It didn’t make it easier when Neil was turned this way, the ridiculous curve of his round ass presented in a glorious way, his skin still red from being fucked once.

Neil couldn’t take much more. He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle both Kevin and Andrew for longer and then Kevin was cursing, his hands tight in Neil’s hair.

“Fuck, babe, Neil—” Kevin choked, his legs starting to shake, and Neil just dug his fingers into Kevin’s ass as much as he could, trying to keep him there. “ _Fuck_ —!”

And then Neil was swallowing, Kevin spilling into the back of his throat with a heat and power that shouldn’t have been possible after their first round. Not that it mattered with Kevin—he had too much stamina, had proved that he could fuck Neil at least three times before Neil gave up in a heap of weak limbs and red skin.

Kevin barely finished when Andrew slammed hard, once, and then Neil gasped and a hand pulled his head back, hair tugged and the column of his neck exposed for Kevin to bite down on as Neil’s entire body seized, a wrecked cry torn from his lips as he clenched around Andrew’s cock and came to the feeling of two hands curling around his dick. And Neil spilled, finally tipped over too much, shaking while Andrew whispered _fuck_ into his ear, rocking into Neil’s raw body while he came inside of Neil.

Neil was only distantly aware of Kevin standing before him, petting Neil’s head carefully while Neil shook against his shoulder. Andrew moved slowly, fucking in and out of Neil a few more gloriously overwhelming times, as if he wanted to push everything inside of Neil, where it could never escape.

Andrew was always interestingly sentimental after sex. He pressed a vague kiss to Neil’s shoulder, hand wandering over his back soothingly, like everything was just peaceful and Neil hadn’t been absolutely destroyed by both Andrew and Kevin at once.

“Someone needs a bath,” Kevin murmured. He was still contentedly running his fingers through Neil’s hair. “I think he’s going to need help.”

“Neil.” Andrew moved carefully, climbing off the bed. It wasn’t a question, but Neil knew the one that was coming.

“Drew,” Neil decided, his voice already a sleepy murmur. _Fuck_ , he was tired. “Yes.”

Kevin pressed a kiss to his jaw before he helped Neil away, careful of shaky legs and slow movements. Neil was more than ready for a shower and he knew he could lean on Andrew for a few minutes.

He barely registered the shower, but Neil was certain of the way he came out after, curling against Kevin’s side and waiting for a warm arm to wrap around his body. Andrew wasn’t always in the mood to be tangled up in them, but at least for tonight, He stayed close enough to throw a leg over one of Neil’s.

Maybe shoving their beds together wasn’t a very delicate situation, but it was fucking good one, just like the one they all had. Neil didn’t mind that he would wake up sore and lazy. He welcomed it—and he welcomed the steady heat of the two bodies keeping him there, on the bed.

 _No more running._ It was a nice thing.

It was nice to come back to the same, place too. The same people.

It was nice to come _with_ them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow cool it's 2am what have i done with my life  
> nothing productive that's what


End file.
